When we remember our loved one, we should remember them for all they were and all they meant to us.
Yizkor – 8th Day of Pesach 5770
On the 8th day of Pesach, we read a selection from Parashat Re’eh. This section of Deuteronomy is clearly appropriate because it discusses the observance of Passover. It is also appropriate for the last day of the holiday because this section also looks forward to the upcoming pilgrimage festivals. As I studied this section again, I came across a verse that caught my attention. Deuteronomy 16:3 says, “You shall not eat anything leavened with [the Pesach offering]; for seven days thereafter, you shall eat unleavened bread (matzah) – the bread of affliction – for you departed from the land of Egypt in haste – in order that you may remember the day of your departure from the land of Egypt all the days of your life.”
A couple of things strike me as odd about this verse. The first thing I find surprising is that God commanded us to remember. God is addressing the generation that had experienced slavery and their children. Did He need to command us to remember? How could we have possibly forgotten a lifetime of oppression and violence? How could we forget how God freed us with fierce plagues and awesome miracles? And, the second thing I find curious about this passage is an inherent paradox. What exactly are we being commanded to remember? Is it the oppression of slavery, the trepidation with which we fled, or is it the freedom that came with our deliverance?
I think the answer to the first question is that we do, indeed, need to be reminded to remember. We human beings have an extraordinary capacity to forget the past and repress painful memories. And, the answer to the second question is that we need to be reminded to remember all of it. It isn’t enough to remember only the hardship or only the triumph. Passover is full of these contradictory memories. At our Seder we are commanded to eat the Korech – the sandwich of matzah, maror, and charoset. It is an odd – bittersweet taste; but I think it is perfectly appropriate way to fulfill the mitzvah of remembering our Exodus from Egypt. The sweet haroset tempers the sharp sting of the maror; and, paradoxically, the maror brings out the sweetness of the haroset. My teacher, Rabbi Ed Feinstein, teaches that the Korech is the bittersweet taste of life. For those who have never experienced death, hardship, loss, and disappointment, time is undifferentiated – every day is the same. But, he writes:
Those who know how to live in time have learned to savor the bittersweet flavor of life. They have learned to mellow the harshness of mortality with the precious sweetness of special moments -- moments of love, of solidarity, of insight, of wholeness. They embrace moments; preserve and collect moments. And when darkness encroaches, they return to these moments to renew life, to build new hope, to regain strength. In moments of time, they find eternity.[1]
We do, in fact, need to be commanded to remember, because it is far too easy to remember selectively. It’s too easy to dwell on life’s painful moments, on life’s inevitable disappointments, on the losses we’ve experienced. It is too easy to return to Egypt and taste only the bitterness of the maror. On the other hand, it is also very tempting to, as they say, “put the past behind us” – to sweep aside the painful memories and celebrate only our joys and successes. It is too easy to rush into the sweet Land of Milk and Honey and forget the challenges that brought us there. This is not the Jewish way. The Jewish way is to eat maror with hasoret – to remember the bitter with the sweet and the sweet with the bitter.
In a few moments we will recite the traditional Yizkor service. Yizkor is also about remembering. We remember our loved ones with warm memories and often with painful memories as well; and we ask that God remember our loved ones for all that they were. Like the Torah’s commandment regarding Pesach, our deceased relatives call out to us at this time. Just as we ask God to remember them, they ask us to remember them too. They call out to us saying: “Remember me!”
Remember me! Remember that I gave you life. I loved you in your victories and loved you in your shortcomings. You know how to love because of me.
Remember me! Remember that I was human too. I rejoiced, I laughed, and I savored life. Remember that I also suffered. I had pain. I made mistakes. I celebrated triumphs and I mourned losses. All you are feeling, I once felt. You learned how to respond to life from me.
Remember me! Remember what I stood for, what I cared about. Remember my values and my passions. Remember how I made a difference in the world and in your life. My greatest legacy is you.
Remember me! Remember where you came from and where I came from. Remember that you part of a chain that goes back generations, centuries, millennia.
Remember me! Remember that I loved you.
The Yizkor service calls on us not simply to remember the fact that our loved ones once walked this earth. Like the commandment to remember our Exodus from Egypt by eating the maror with the haroset, Yizkor asks us to remember everything about them – all that they were and all that they meant to us.
